


I Know

by Aliea



Series: One Day [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:16:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8191597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aliea/pseuds/Aliea
Summary: John had always loved Sherlock, ever since he was a five years old.It took thirty years for them to get together. They spent two years getting to know each other, then Sherlock died.What would of happened if John knew about the fall being fake?Here's your answer.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was never going to happen, then I asked myself the question what would John do if he knew about the fall? So I set the question in my One Day universe and this is what happened.
> 
> If you haven't read One Day please read that before reading this.
> 
> Enjoy x x

One day.

 

It took one day for John to fall in love.

He had been five.

Of course he didn’t know at the time that he had fallen, but he had and so he was bound to it until he could have it.

It took thirty years.

He had it for nearly two years.

Until.

Sherlock is gone.

John watched him fall.

John buried him.

John cannot move forward.

 

Dull light filtered through the closed heavy curtains of the bedroom. It informed its occupier that a new day had started but John just stared at the wall, his eye's blinking slowly as he replayed one of their days, the day at the theme park, with the wet shirt and blue slushy. He liked that day, he had turned fifteen and Sherlock had been there, it had been their second day.

_"I kept the shirt."_

_John frowned from his position on the bed, the bed he and Sherlock had just spent their first night in. "What shirt?"_

_"The one from the park, the black one." Sherlock looked away, blushing slightly as he fumbled with the covers that where creased and showing its use from the night before._

_John smiled. "Can I see?"_

_Sherlock looked up at John then stood, not at all put off by his nudity, walked to the chest of drawers in the corner and opened the top draw. John watched as Sherlock looked down at the draw then reached in and instead of pulling out a t-shirt he lifted a box and came back to the bed._

_"I kept other things too." Sherlock quietly said as he opened the box._

_"Like what?" John wanted to peer into the box, to see for himself but he held himself back letting Sherlock show him._

_"Do you remember this?" Sherlock held out a small blue plastic square that would have once been soft and squidgy but was not hard and brittle._

_"You kept the gel pack!" John reached out taking it in his hands, in complete awe that he was holding something that he had given Sherlock thirty years ago._

_"Yeah, and this." He pulled out the hospital bracelet he had been given when John had looked after him, it didn't have Sherlock’s name on it though, instead it had Dr Marks and Dr Watson written on it._

_John took the bracelet as it was held out to him but said nothing. That meeting had been hard for the both of them and John had spent many years after that wondering if Sherlock was even alive._

_"Now don't get all defensive about this one." Sherlock held out a picture which caused John to frown until he looked it at._

_It was of him, on a dance floor, eyes closed, arms raised, head tilted back, he looked good, hot even._

_"How the hell did you get this?"_

_"Top of the range camera phone. Not as good as todays but still pretty good."_

_"You took this?"_

_"Yeah, seconds before...well you remember." Sherlock smiled with a shrug._

_"Yeah I remember perfectly." John whispered._

_Next Sherlock pulled out the black shirt, the one John had given him because his was covered in ice cold slushy._

_Taking the item if clothing John studied it._

_"You have touched this a lot."_

_"Yes."_

_"Why?"_

_"I...It gave me comfort."_

_"Comfort."_

_"It reminded me that someone out there liked me, that I wasn't totally alone and that hopefully, one day, I would meet that person again."_

_John smiled, huffing out a small laugh._

_"And you did. Remind me to get Mike a nice bottle of scotch as a thank you."_

_"Agreed."_

That had been the morning after the cabbie. After their first night together in what was to become their bed, in their bedroom and in their flat.

But now it was all just John's.

 

**Four months after the fall**

Sherlock stood with his hand out, reaching for the door handle, but he froze, finding himself unable to touch, to open the door.

It had been four months since he jumped, since he left John to believe he was dead. He forced the man he loved to watch, to see it all and to feel it as though it was real when in fact it was a lie. He let the man that had loved him his whole life believe he was dead and yet here Sherlock was, willing to risk it all just to see John, to hold him, kiss him, just once, just today.

The door suddenly opened, a hand grabbed his coat pulling him into the flat.

“Mrs Hudson is on her way back!” John hissed slamming the door closed as he let go of the coat then stalked over to the fire place as Sherlock just stood in shock.

The two stared at each other, John with his fist clenched breathing hard, his eyes cold and distant, Sherlock with wide eyes, confusion clear on his face.

“How?” Sherlock finally asked.

“Fuck how.” John growled then was across the room, his hands pushing Sherlock hard against the wall as he attacked Sherlock’s lips with his own.

Sherlock held onto John’s arms as he found himself unable to response as before he could John was pulling at his clothing as he bit and lick at Sherlock’s neck. Soon Sherlock’s coat and shirt where open and John moved his mouth to his chest giving it the same attention he gave his neck.

“John I-“

“Shut up Sherlock, don’t talk.” John ordered without looking up his mouth nipping with every word.

Not a word was spoken after that.

John fell to his knees, his hands at Sherlock’s belt and trousers. Within a second John had Sherlock’s cock in his mouth and Sherlock had no choice but to hold on to whatever his hands could find, so John’s head had to do.

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to come hard down John’s throat.

Breathing heavily, he slid down the wall with his eyes close as came down from the high he found himself on. When he finally opened his eyes John was still knelt before him his eyes now dark and full of anger and lust.

“You can leave now.” John finally said as he got to his feet.

“John.”

“Leave Sherlock, go do what you have to do.”

Sherlock’s high diminished as John fell onto his chair his head resting in his hand as his eyes closed. Standing, Sherlock quickly sorted himself out then just stood as he watched John. He knew he should go, knew this was a mistake but he also knew that if he didn’t come today then he would have tomorrow, or the next day or the next and he would have never been able to concentrate on what he really had to do so it had to be today.

“John...”

“Leave.”

Sherlock lowered his head then turned, leaving the flat that was his home.

 

**Eleven months after the fall**

John rolled his shoulders, his fingers flexing as much as they could as he tried to keep hold of the heavy shopping bags in his grip.

He had finished work early and he knew he needed to go shopping, that he couldn't live on Mrs Hudson’s scones and cakes forever. So with his last patient not turning up he left with the intent to fill his cupboards once again. He should have ordered online instead.

As he walked he kept his head high, staring down any that dared to try to make him move from his straight course. Several people moved away at the last second, their resolve just as strong as John's, but John had something they didn't, he didn't care.

As he turned onto Bakerstreet he again adjusted his grip, his eyes casting downward for a second. When he looked back up he stopped dead, his grip loosening causing his shopping to fall, the bags spilling everywhere and those around just stared and walked round, not a single person stopping to help.

Sherlock stood a good twenty feet away, his hair was cut short, so short that his curls had disappeared, it was also dyed, now more brown than black. He wore dark blue jeans a white button down shirt and a brown leather jacket. He didn't look at all like himself but John knew it was him, he would always know it was him, would always know when those eyes were on him.

John took a step forward to which Sherlock shook his head, it was a small movement but John caught it, he understood it so he stopped and just held his ground.

He was being watched, they both were and with that John closed his eyes and slowly crouched down to begin gathering his shopping. Picking up his bags he started to fill them once again until one item remained. Reaching out he went to grab it when another hand picked it up.

Closing his eyes again he took in a deep breath as he tried to calm his racing heart. 

Looking up he took in Sherlock’s long legs, the jeans hugging every curve, then up the buttons of the shirt to the long neck and then finally to eyes bright and full of emotion.

"Here." Sherlock said with a smile holding out the tin of rice pudding. John took it, their fingers brushing for the smallest amount of time.

"Thanks."

"No problem." They both held the others eyes until Sherlock nodded once and walked away.

When John got into his flat he looked down at his hands. He had left his shopping on the pavement, the only thing he had was the tin of rice pudding Sherlock had given him. 

 

**Seventeen months after the fall**

John hated November, always had. It was the month that didn't know what it was. It was also the month fireworks night happened, or rather fireworks fortnight happened. For a solid two week’s fireworks would be heard going off all over London and for an ex-army doctor with PTSD it was not the best of times.

The nights had started to close in early, darkness having fallen totally by five in the afternoon so John found himself either walking home in the dark or risking the over crowed tube train. 

He like the tube better simply because there was less risk of some idiot setting of a firework near him, so on the fifth of November a night that landed on a Friday he found himself rammed into an underground car heading for Bakerstreet, a journey that would take fifteen minutes.

When he first got on all the seat were taken, forcing him to stand. Lucky for him he found a place near the end of a car and so he was able to have his back against the car itself and overlook those travelling with him.

When the train stopped after his stop he moved with those near him making room till someone stood right before him.

Laughing slightly, he looked down and shook his head.

"Hello John." 

"Hello Sherlock." John said as he looked up.

They smiled and then they were kissing. John found his hand delving into curls now regrown though still brown in colour, while his other hand wrapped around a thin waist pulling Sherlock closer till they were touching from lips to hips.

Sherlock’s hands found their way onto John, one holding the back of his neck the other across his shoulders, holding John to him as if his life depend on it.

Moaning as the kiss deepened John found Sherlock taking advantage of his open mouth, the man’s tongue delving in and taking what he wanted. John let him, he let him have control because he couldn't, he needed to be taken to be had, needed it more than he needed to breath.

When they did break apart, both of the gasping for air, both of them clutching, clinging, holding the other for dear life John found himself with tears streaming down his face.

"I can't do this forever." John shuddered as he spoke.

"I know. Soon, I promise it will all be over soon."

Pulling away slightly John moved his hand from Sherlock’s hair to his face, his palm catching on the stubble on Sherlock's face.

"I miss you."

"I do to."

"Come home with me, please." John begged pulling Sherlock closer, his head burying itself against Sherlock’s neck. "Please, please come home with me."

He felt Sherlock shake with suppressed tears as he too pulled at John.

"I can't...I want to; god I want to. I want to take you to bed, I want to strip you slowly so I can touch and taste every inch of you. I want to be in you, to take my time with you, to make you mine all over again. Please know I want that John, so, so much. But it's not safe. They...you are still being watch, constantly being watched and until you are safe I can't come home."

John knew, he knew about those watching him, Mycroft had told him, had told him everything. So he understood, but understanding didn't stop the pain.

"I know." John finally whispered.

They kissed again, this time slowly, lovingly. Until Sherlock pulled back placed a kissed to John's forehead and muttered a few words before leaving as the car came to a stop once again.

 

**Twenty months after the fall**

Sherlock sipped at the rather expensive scotch in the rather fine cut glass tumbler held in his hand.

He was sat in the lounge bar at a hotel in Brussels, it was a break from the shit holes he had found himself in of late, in fact it was more than a break, it was more like a holiday. But he was still working, still dismantling Moriarty’s network still trying to keep John safe.

His step up in the world came from following one of Moriarty’s higher ups, a man that dealt in weapons and was due to book into the hotel within the next hour. Sherlock had been watching him for some time now and the only thing the man did regularly was to check in to this very hotel and met up with his favourite male prostitute. Unfortunately for the prostitute though he had come down with a rather bad bout of food poisoning and Sherlock was to step in on his behalf.

As he waited he watched the people come and go. A conference of some sort was going on in the main room, so a lot of people milled about waiting for the next talk, or demonstration. As he studied one man he realised the conference was a doctors one, and not just for normal doctors. All around him were forces doctors and nurses, this was a medical conference for the armed forces.

Putting down he scotch he ran his hands through his hair a few times, a habit he had when trying to calm his racing heart and ranging emotions. He missed John, god did he miss him. Missed his smell, his laugh, his touch, his everything.

Sighing he sat back in his chair and looked about once again before picking his glass back up and downing the amber liquid then holding it up to indicate he wished for a top up.

As he waited he tried not to look around too much, he just looked down at his knees till a hand suddenly took his hand holding the tumbler and the sound of liquid filling the glass caused him to look up.

John’s eyes flicked to his for a moment before he stopped filling the glass and put it on the table next to Sherlock’s chair.

Sherlock had gone still, his heart having stopped, along with his breathing and all his thought processes, the only thing that moved or worked was his eyes which followed John as he walked around and took the chair in front of Sherlock’s.

John looked good, he was in a well cut suit in a navy blue colour, with a white crisp shirt and a deep grey tie.

“Hello love.”

“John.” Sherlock finally spoke as he lowered his glass to the table. “What are you doing here?”

John tilted his head a small frown on his face. “You didn’t know I would be here?”

“No.”

“I see.” John’s eyes moved over him before looking back into his eyes. “Well I’m here for the conference, I’m a speaker for one of the seminars.”

“Oh…John, you can’t be here.”

“Why not?”

“I…I’m meant to be meeting someone.”

“Right.”

“He’s one of…Jim’s higher ups.” Sherlock said quietly, his eyes not leaving John’s.

“Okay, so what are you planning?”

Sherlock sat back, he couldn’t tell John he planned on killing the man, that he had in fact killed a lot of men in the last twenty months. He also couldn’t tell John that for it to work, for him to get into the hotel room to do the deed, he needed to shamelessly flirt with the man he was to meet.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Of course not.” John nodded. “Sorry.”

“John please, you have to understand.”

“I do understand, I’ve always understood. You needed to do this without me because you couldn’t do it with me. You needed to fake your death, to make me watch, to make me truly believe that you had died. But I found out, I worked it out and then I got Mycroft to confess. Did he ever tell you that? That I made him tell me everything?”

“Yes.”

“And have I compromised anything for you?”

“No.”

“No, because I understood. I kept up the whole façade because I knew it was important to do so. Even when you kept turning up and putting me off I kept on pretending, kept on grieving because it was what you needed from me.”

John sat forward his eyes dark.

“I’m staying here tonight, if you want to join me after your meeting then do so. If you can’t then I will see you again, possible when this is all over, but hopefully it will be tonight, room four two six.”

Standing John took the few steps between them then lent down and whispered in his ear.

“I promise you this though, whenever we get what we both want I will make you wish you never left.” Lips brushed his ear and then John was gone.

Closing his eyes, he lent his head back against the chair he was in before picking up his scotch and taking a long pull on it. How the hell we he to do what he needed to do with John here?

“You must be Scott.” A voice said pulling him from his thoughts. Looking up he looked at the man he had been waiting for and smiled.

“Yes.” He said smoothly as he stood and took hold of the hand held out to him. “And you must be Sebastian.”

“Indeed.”

 

**Twenty months after the fall**

John led against the plush pillows of the huge bed of his rather posh hotel room.

He had, had this whole trip paid for him, right down to the car that picked him up from the flat. He had been invited to speak on his time on the front line, a role that most army doctors never get to do, most having to stay behind the lines and wait for the wounded to come in. John however had been one of the first to go into the fray and fight as well as heal.

The speech had been good, people listened to him, they reacted to his stories and the follow up questions had been good giving further detail to what he had done. It had been good to talk about his time as an army doctor, good to talk to people that understood what he had been through.

But throughout the whole talk all he could think about was Sherlock. He was in some room within the hotel doing who knew what and John had no idea what he could do, either to help or to ignore.

It was now hours later, John had eaten alone, as well as gotten through half a bottle of red, after all he wasn’t paying for any of this so he might as well take advantage of it.

Getting up off the bed he walked to the window, his image reflected back at him for a moment, showing him still dressed in his suit trousers, his shirt still tucked in and his tie long gone. His hair was slightly messy and though he felt as though he should look a mess he instead looked good.

Smiling he refocused his eyes and looked out over at the city he found himself in, some foreign city he had never visited before and probably wouldn’t see much of seeing as he was flying back the next day. But still, he was someplace he never thought about seeing and yet here he was.

“We should come back here.” John looked up using the window to look behind him. Sherlock was lent against the door, still dressed in the black suit he had been wearing before, and looking amazing.

“Yes we should.” He turned with a smile on his face that instantly left as he noted blood dripping onto the floor. “Sherlock?”

He moved instantly across the floor taking Sherlock’s face in his hands and lifting it so he could check his eyes: dazed and unfocused, his fingers moving to his neck checking his pulse; fast and unsteady.

“What happened?” He asked as his hands started to pull at Sherlock’s jacket to get at whatever was bleeding.

“Knife.” Sherlock lent against John’s shoulder. “John.”

“It’s okay, I have you.” John took in a breath, Sherlock’s scent strong, but he needed to keep he’s doctors head on. “Where?”

“Left lower side.”

“Okay, come on, bathroom.”

He led Sherlock to the bathroom, lowering him to the chair by the bath. “I just need to grab my bag.”

“Umm.” Sherlock responded his hand going to his side as John went back into the bedroom to grab his bag. When he returned Sherlock had his eyes opened and followed him as he knelt on the floor pulled on some gloves and started to undo Sherlock’s shirt.

“Where is the guy that did this?”

“Dead. Mycroft will cover everything up, he has the others.”

John paused for only a second before he carried on till he pushed the blood soaked shirt from Sherlock’s shoulders and then grabbed a towel and pressed it to the bleeding wound causing Sherlock to groan.

“Sorry.” Holding the towel in place he looked up at Sherlock who was still watching him.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock finally said.

“Makes sense.”

“He knew I could get hurt.”

“Yep.”

“So he sent you here.”

“Again, it makes sense.”

The whole time they just stared at each other, John just taking in the man before him, taking in the fact that Sherlock was in front of him and he wasn’t about to just disappear.

“Right, lean back as much as possible I need to see what I’m dealing with.” John ordered, holding the towel as Sherlock moved then removing it to look at what was done.

The wound itself was shallow but long which was why it seemed to bleed so much.

“Right, this could take a while to stitch.”

“The longer the better.” Sherlock muttered as he looked up at the ceiling.

“Sherlock you’re not going anywhere to night.”

“Oh good.” John smiled at the tone, the relief in his partner’s voice at not being sent away clear to be heard.

It took half an hour to stitch up the wound. He then bandaged it and then went about cleaning the blood off of Sherlock pale skin. The whole routine was so familiar to them; it was something they had done since the moment they had met. John helping to ease a black eye, then with the shirt, and the hospital. They had always had this relationship where John cared for Sherlock on a medical level. But Sherlock did so much for John, he helped him feel wanted, feel ground, feel loved.

“Can I kiss you now?” Sherlock suddenly asked.

“Yes, yes please.”

Sherlock’s lips were on his in an instant and he knew he was lost, his doctors brain gone leaving just John, leaving the man that was so totally in love with one Sherlock Holmes.

“John, take me to bed, please, take me to bed.” Sherlock asked against his lips.

God he wanted to, he really wanted nothing more than to have Sherlock warm and pliant under him, over him, in him, around him, he wanted it so badly, but he couldn’t, not yet.

“To sleep, we go to bed to sleep.” John pulled back taking running his fingers gently over Sherlock’s face. “We go to bed to cuddle, to talk, to sleep.”

“Okay.”

They both changed, John lending, or rather giving, Sherlock a pair of boxers that were far to large but with a safety pin did the job. John put on a pair of sleep shorts and once they both got into bed; John on his back with Sherlock laying on his right side and across John’s chest they both just relaxed.

Leaning so he could rest his head against the top of Sherlock’s John just soaked in having Sherlock with him a feeling he had been waiting so long to have.

“I dream of this.” Sherlock whispered, his fingers drawing patterns over his chest.

“This is real.”

“I know.”

They didn’t talk much after that, just cuddled and soon fell asleep, or at least Sherlock did. John stayed awake, kept himself alert, he didn’t want to miss a second of this, didn’t want to wake with Sherlock gone. He wanted this to end with a goodbye.

John watched the sun come up, he watched the sky go from black to light blue, going through all the colours it could do in-between.

The light slowly moved across the floor till it reached the bed and then moved up the covers, up across Sherlock’s leg that had escaped the covers in the night, up to his hips, covered in the red boxers John had given him, till it reached his back, the vast expanse of pale skin warming in the light of the sun.

“When is your flight?”

Forcing his eyes off the body he loved, he moved them to the eyes he could die in.

“Two fifteen.”

“So we have a few hours.”

John smiled as he tightened his grip on Sherlock. “Yeah, breakfast?”

“Sounds good.”

 

**Twenty-four months after the fall**

*It’s over. MH*

*What? Where is he? *

*We are on our way back to England now. It will be a few more hours. Meet us at my office. MH *

*How is he? *

*Mycroft? *

*Injured, but he will be okay given time. MH*

*How injured? *

*The office John, all will be explained then. MH *

*I’ll be waiting. *

John grabbed the first cab he saw, somehow channelling Sherlock’s super power of sticking out his hand and a cab just appearing. Half an hour later he was sat in Mycroft’s office, a cup of tea in front of him, provided by Anthea. He was in for a long wait according to Mycroft’s ever present assistant, the plane was still four hours out and then it was an hour from the airport. So he sat and waited, staring at the portrait of the queen for a time before pulling out his phone and going through his emails, then he reread his blog, and looked through Sherlock’s before putting his phone away and started to pace.

When word reached them that the plane had landed and they were on their way, the nerves kicked it. It was silly really, after all he had seen Sherlock a few times since the fall. But this was different, Sherlock was coming home, it was over, he had finished what needed to be done and he was on his way to see John.

A smile suddenly found its way onto John’s lips. It was over.

The door suddenly opened as Anthea walked in, followed my Mycroft holding up a very tired and injured Sherlock.

“Oh god.” John stepped forward taking Sherlock from Mycroft, a move Sherlock seemed to appreciate as he wrapped his arms around John and just held him.

“John.”

“Yeah, it’s over, you’re home.” John looked over at Mycroft. “What happened?”

“He was caught, tortured, I spent four weeks on the ground to get him out.”

“Bloody hell.” John hissed as he moved Sherlock to the sofa.

“I’m okay John.” Sherlock said as he slowly lowered himself down.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” As Sherlock sat John stood before him then without a care to who he was with he took Sherlock’s face in his hands and kissed him. It was a small, tender kiss, one filled with love and pain, pain of separation, of loss, it was also full of so much joy of having Sherlock back, of having him not just for a day, but forever.


End file.
